


From Our Invincible Heights

by RoseGoldRogue



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kingsman Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, BAMF Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blood and Injury, Gen, Gun Violence, Jaskier will stab a bitch, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Pre-Slash, Swearing, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseGoldRogue/pseuds/RoseGoldRogue
Summary: “I think this location has been compromised,” Geralt growled, furious. He threw a knife as another balaclava clad figure rounded the corner, the weapon hitting its mark flawlessly.Jaskier, lightning fast, spun into a forward roll, simultaneously pulling open his Kingsman umbrella, shielding Geralt and himself from a shooter on the stairwell, laughed incredulously.“You fucking think so?” Jaskier asked him hysterically, pulling a revolver from his coat.Or, the Kingsman AU literally no-one asked for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #004





	From Our Invincible Heights

**Author's Note:**

> Look, they know who they are. 2 AM, you asshole. I WAS GOING TO SLEEP.  
> As always, thank you to the world's best barthroom. Y'all are the best and I also hate you for making me write so much.  
> Title is from Pablo Neruda - And Because Love Battles

When Geralt had been recruited for, and won his place in, the Kingsman organisation he had, somewhat naively, assumed that the job would involve very little time spent in the company of people who were loud, impulsive and had no self-preservation instincts. Certainly he had thought that if he was forced to put up with them, those people would not be _his fucking coworkers_.

Jaskier laughed uproariously across the ballroom, oblivious to Geralt’s attempts to assassinate him with a glare of seething irritation, and continued to flirt unsubtly with their mark’s latest mistress. The younger man winked at the woman, who giggled and flushed in response before her eyes darted to her current paramour, whose arm she was still draped over. Their mark eyed Jaskier’s artfully dishevelled dinner suit appreciatively.

Geralt’s eye twitched.

 _“Well, Lamorak, it would seem as though Tristan has made successful first contact with the mark_ ,” Yen’s voice sounded dryly in his ear, the smirk almost audible. _“You can both proceed with the isolation and removal stage. Lamorak, you need to create the confrontation soon.”_

He could feel the muscle in his jaw clench as he deliberately relaxed his gritted teeth to take a deep breath. A single tap to the arm of his glasses by his hairline. Affirmative. Doubtless, Yen would take his lack of verbal response as the confirmation of her having bothered him, rather than the minimisation of any risk of their plans being overheard.

Though, considering his careful positioning away from the crowd, there was little chance of that. Of course, Jaskier often told him that his distaste for mingling in groups at social events made him look more suspicious, but he had long since learnt that the rich and titled often dismissed a large, suit clad man as a bodyguard or hired security and that they rarely paid any mind to ‘the help’. The idea that he was a member of a private secret intelligence service was unlikely to cross the minds of the collection of aristocrats, magnates and socialites in attendance.

Resisting the urge to sigh in irritation, Geralt straightened from his slouch against the doorway of the main ballroom. He cast a quick once-over of his suit to check that all of his tools and devices were in place - Kingsman fabrics did nothing as commonplace as become rumpled - readjusted his glasses and began to move towards the small bar area set up in the foyer. Eyes began to assess him as he moved, no doubt noticing the quality of his clothes and the purposefully confident stride he had adopted for this evening.

“ _He’s seen you, at your eleven_ ,” Yen told him, the indicator on his glasses interface signalling that the message was for him alone. Geralt hummed lowly in response and positioned himself directly in the man’s eyeline at the bar.

As he ordered - a single malt Japanese whiskey, he would take the alcohol inhibitor stashed in his cuffs later - he reviewed the information Yen had sent him.

William Holcroft, late thirties, unmarried with no children. Second son of the late industry titan Sir Charles Holcroft and younger brother of their mark, Edward Holcroft. Bitter at his brother’s success and womanising behaviour. Not as corrupt as the elder brother, but not a sympathetic man either. Difficult to get along with, and highly strung.

The perfect antagonist.

Geralt took a sip of his drink and drummed his fingers on the bar to check his signet ring was in place. He adjusted the gold band, privately bemused that Kingsman issued the jewelry baring their insignia; a sword in a stone, the hilt encircled by a crown.

He did not have to wait long before William sat down next him, the bartender immediately supplying him with a glass of champagne. William gestured at Geralt, limbs already loose with alcohol.

“And another for my friend here, if you will,” the man smiled, charmingly. “I’m afraid I can’t recall having introduced myself, I am William Holcroft, of Holcroft International. And you are?”

Geralt forced a polite smile onto his face as Yen snorted in amusement in his ear. He accepted the glass offered and lifted it towards the other man.

“Eric Bellegarde,” Geralt replied. He gave his voice a slight lilt, the suggestion of a Basque accent, modulated by years around British high society. William’s eyebrow raised, obviously intrigued, as he held out his hand.

They shook hands firmly. As designed by Yen’s exacting team, William did not seem to notice the small dose of a potent emotion-raising drug administered by the tiny needle deployed from the underside of Geralt’s signet ring. They withdrew their hands, William none the wiser.

“Bellegarde… Are your family in business, Eric?” 

“On the continent, yes. We are considering expansion into the British market in the next few years.”

Geralt took a fortifying sip of his drink and settled in for a dull conversation as he waited for the drug to take effect.

Thankfully, William seemed to succumb fairly quickly. His cheeks became flushed and his words quickly turned pointed and filled with anger and bitterness towards his elder brother. When the man seemed set in his ranting, Geralt tapped his thumb once against his right cufflink, signalling that Jaskier should bring the mark and his companion towards William to engineer a confrontation.

William Holcroft took one look at his elder brother, one arm held by his mistress and the other by an attractive, extravagantly dressed man, neither over the age of thirty, and launched to his feet in fury. Geralt stood in response and placed a hand on the man’s arm in an attempt to placate him.

“William,” Geralt began, voice as soft as he could pretend to make it. The man brushed off his hand, eyes fixed on his brother.

“I cannot allow this behaviour, Eric,” William ground out from between clenched teeth. Geralt made himself sigh and nod sadly, as if the whole scene hadn’t been deliberately engineered by himself and Jaskier. He watched as the younger brother stormed over to confront his brother, the heated words quickly devolving into a shouting match.

Jaskier ushered Edward’s companion away, pulling the distressed young woman into his side and towards the door. He paused to send a deliberate and flirtatious wink in Geralt’s direction.

Geralt bought a hand up to cover his face and massaged his temples, exhaling slowly. _That ostentatious bastard_. 

_“Time to make a quick exit, Eric_ ,” Yen told him, teasingly. He turned towards the group of William’s friends gathered near him.

“I think it would be best for me to leave, begging your pardon,” he said regretfully, allowing a little more of ‘Eric’s’ accent to colour the words. Several of the group acknowledged him but most kept their eyes on the brothers, who seemed perilously close to coming to blows. Geralt took the opportunity to slip away, collecting his coat and fleeing gratefully into the waiting Kingsman car.

As soon as his back hit the familiar black leather of the seats, Geralt let out a long exhale of relief.

“Welcome back, Lamorak, sir.”

“Thank you, Giles. We might have a bit of a wait until Tristan sends his pick up location,” Geralt told the driver, voice terse.

“That’s fine, sir.”

Before he could respond, the screen on the back of the front passenger seat flickered to life. Yen, her shoulders and neck covered by black lace, appeared. Her expression seemed relaxed, a sardonic quirk to her eyebrow that suggested she had been amused by tonight’s events.

“Not bad, Lamorak. Tristan is with the mark and his companion on their way to second location,” she informed him. “Did you want me to patch you through the feed from his glasses?”

Geralt’s stomach twisted in revulsion at the thought.

“Fuck off, Merlin.”

Yen laughed at his expression and waved a hand elegantly.

“I’ll let you know when he’s done, then,” she smirked. Geralt felt himself scowl at her phrasing. Her image faded immediately and Geralt allowed himself to lean back, letting his eyes close in relaxation.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before Yen appeared again, letting him know that Jaskier was ready to be extracted. The car purred to life and wound through the late night London streets quickly, a testament to the efficiency of Giles’ skills. They pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript Kensington townhouse, the buildings cookie-cutter perfect and the street lined with manicured birch trees.

Jaskier wrenched open the door and threw himself into the back of the car, nearly colliding with Geralt. His cheeks were flushed and his bowtie was crooked. Like this he looked painfully young and innocent; a young member of the landed gentry after a night of letting loose with friends. Of course, this was mostly a deliberate act. Knowing Jaskier, he was probably stone cold sober. He knew from experience that the younger man had at least seven knives stashed on him at all times, not to mention the gun he knew was concealed in his suit jacket.

Geralt looked at him expectantly, only slightly disapproving.

“Calm down, mission successful,” Jaskier told him. He reached down into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, quickly plugging it into one of the secure connections to Yen’s servers.

“I cloned both of their phones, Merlin. Just in case, of course,” he smirked at Yen on the screen. “One can never have enough blackmail material.”

Geralt felt the tension release from his shoulders, though he had never doubted his erstwhile partner’s ability to do his job.

Audible typing sounds came from Yen’s feed, as she collected the information Jaskier had retrieved. She looked both furious and satisfied, which was never good. He met Jaskier’s eyes and noticed that, gratifyingly, he also looked terrified by her expression.

She looked up at them, eyes flashing, hand gesturing to someone behind her. Likely it was Morgana, her number two. Triss was less experienced than Yen, but had a much more pleasant manner.

“Well done Tristan, Lamorak. You continue to make quite a team. Arthur will be informed of your success, you can debrief with him at HQ tomorrow.”

They both chorused their thanks to her as the screen went black. The car was on the way to the tailors, where Jaskier normally liked to get out. Geralt, who lived in a flat in Camden, just outside of the City, which he mostly hated, would likely be dropped off on the way. The car sped through the boroughs, Jaskier humming quietly as he scrolled idly on his phone. Once, he might have found it annoying, but the man’s habits had grown on him. It was oddly nice to have some stability in an after-mission ritual.

When they reached his street, Geralt felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His neighbours flats, who seemed to be mostly nocturnal and had no discernible working patterns whatsoever, were completely dark.

Jaskier took in the tension on his partner’s face and met Geralt’s eyes. He nodded, once, firmly and leant forward.

“Giles, we might need a speedy exit. Take us around the back and then keep watch of our trackers. Let Yen know we’re on alert, we’re both proceeding to the location,” Jaskier informed him, all traces of the carefree man from earlier gone.

“Yes, sir.”

Geralt exhaled calmly and clicked the safety off of his gun. He placed his hand on the handle of the car door and waited for Jaskier to position himself similarly. Their eyes met, and Geralt nodded firmly.

“Let’s go.”

The sound of the car doors shutting was too loud in the backstreet, eerily quiet even for the early hours of the morning.

“Lights either side,” Jaskier observed, looking up at the row of houses. He was right. Only Geralt’s building was in full darkness. “Any unfamiliar vehicles?”

After a quick glance, he shook his head. His beloved motorbike, Roach, had been left at the Kingsman shopfront yesterday but nothing had been parked in her spot. There was one more car parked half in a courtyard several doors down, a spotless Land Rover owned by one of the young investment bankers a few houses away.

Geralt drew his gun and stepped carefully towards the fire escape that led to the study on the first floor of his flat. Behind him, Jaskier unbuttoned two false pockets in his coat to reveal his concealed holsters and loosened the quick release fastener that held his umbrella before following. Painfully slowly, the two made their way up the metal stairway, their Kingsman issue Oxfords silencing the ascent. They reached the landing and paused, crouched beside the door.

Jaskier pointed at the window to the side and tapped his chest before raising an eyebrow in a silent question. _Should I go through the window?_

He shook his head and gestured to both himself and Jaskier. He tapped his own chest and held up a finger, the motioned at his partner before miming two. _No, I’ll go first, then you follow._ He stood up fluidly at the same time as Jaskier who looked at him and, eyes flashing with anger, turned towards the door, knife in hand.

Before Geralt could react, Jaskier kicked down his door and launched himself into the study.

“Fuck!” Geralt hissed, following immediately, heart beating wildly in his chest. _That stupid, implusive bastard._

Already a dark figure was slumped on the floor, with Jaskier pulling his knife free from his skull. He wiped the blade on the shoulder of the body’s clothing and looked up at Geralt, who had a thunderous face.

“You were about to start stalling, I could tell,” Jaskier said. A floorboard above them creaked and he grinned, all white teeth in the darkness. He motioned towards the next room. “Shall we, darling?”

Ignoring the term of endearment, Geralt slipped into the dining room silently and found it empty, but the door to the staircase had been left wide open. He edged around the room, picking up on the breathing of at least two people on the landing. Geralt waited until Jaskier had positioned himself on the other side of the doorway and held up two fingers. They nodded at each other and launched onto the landing.

Then, the chaos began.

Jaskier ducked a brass-knuckle punch and stabbed the man in the thigh without pause, pivoting to kick him backwards towards the kitchen. Geralt snapped the wrist of another, forcing him to drop his gun, the scream of agony muffled by the balaclava he wore. A shot, almost silent, sent his adversary crumpling to the floor. Turning, he fired again at a new shadow appearing in the kitchen entryway, just as Jaskier swiped a knife across the neck of the man he had been fighting. Both fell simultaneously.

“I think this location has been compromised,” Geralt growled, furious. He threw a knife as another balaclava clad figure rounded the corner, the weapon hitting its mark flawlessly.

Jaskier, lightning fast, spun into a forward roll, simultaneously pulling open his Kingsman umbrella, shielding Geralt and himself from a shooter on the stairwell, laughed incredulously.

“ _You fucking think so_?” Jaskier asked him hysterically, pulling a revolver from his coat. Bullets rained down on the umbrella as Geralt shot him a warning look. He snorted and lined up to fire, his hand perfectly steady on the trigger as he squeezed it. The gunshots on the umbrella abruptly ceased.

The silence held for several long, drawn out moments.

Jaskier huffed quietly, pushing an errant lock of hair from his face and smearing blood across his forehead. Disconcertingly it looked, as most things did, rather attractive on him.

“Only six? I’m almost offended.”

“I don’t think they were expecting me to have company,” Geralt said. Though privately, he did agree with the statement. Idiots. Jaskier eyed him gleefully.

“Well, that’s rather sad, Geralt. Not even on a Friday night?”

“Fuck off, Jaskier.”

The pair began the uncomfortable job of searching the bodies littering Geralt’s flat, but, despite being easily taken down, whoever had sent them was not incompetent enough to leave any obvious trace. They collected any phones and anything else that looked like it might be useful for Yen before Geralt left to collect his important belongings as Jaskier called Giles around.

Moments later found them sat, a single large duffle bag between them, in the back of the Kingsman car once again. The older man exhaled tiredly as the car pulled away from his old home.

“I’ll have to stay at HQ until they find me a new safehouse,” he complained. Already he could feel the exhaustion of having to put up with Agravain and Gawain at all times. Jaskier winced in sympathy and shook his head firmly.

“No. You’ll stay with me. I’ve more than enough room.” He held up a hand to silence Geralt’s protests. “No arguing, Arthur will agree. Giles, we’ll go to the shop. I’ll collect my car and you can get Roach.”

As Jaskier’s plan unfolded, Geralt considered just veering off as soon as he climbed on Roach, but instead found himself following Jaskier’s powder blue Aston Martin DB5, because of course he would have such a showy car, further out of London. After close to two hours, Jaskier took a turn up an unmarked country lane, pausing when he reached a gate to type in a keycode in order to let them both in. As they climbed the hill, a neat Georgian stately home came into view and Geralt felt his eyebrows raise.

The house was large, but not palatial. A small estate, in terms of the British aristocracy, but still far larger than anything Geralt had expected. Jaskier, it seemed, had kept some secrets close to him.

Both men parked at the front of the house in a darkened courtyard. Jaskier pulled Geralt’s duffel from his passenger seat and threw it at him, grinning. The bag thumped solidly into his chest as Jaskier tapped another code into the front door which emitted a cheery beep on opening.

“Come on in. We’ll go straight into the kitchen, I think we both deserve a cup of tea.”

Geralt followed him down a carpeted corridor past a large foyer and several closed oak doors into a warm country kitchen. The lights were already on, soft and non intrusive, and a small wood burner in the corner still gave off a pleasant kick of heat. Immediately, Jaskier flicked on an electric kettle and pulled two mugs from a cupboard. Geralt slumped gratefully into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

No sooner had Jaskier placed a steaming mug of tea in front of him and settled himself in another, attractively mis-matched chair, his phone began buzzing insistently.

Geralt answered it and lay it flat on the table, allowing a hologram of Arthur to project into the room.

“Lamorak, Tristan,” The older man greeted, his voice tense and tired. “Are you safe to talk?”

“We’re at the estate, Arthur,” Jaskier informed him, respectfully. Vesemir seemed to be possibly the only person Geralt had ever seen Jaskier treat with any deference.

“Good, good.” The man pulled a hand down his face. “Merlin has had a look through the phones you left with Giles. She seems sure of the source,” he paused heavily.

“It’s Nilfgaard, then,” Jaskier guessed. Geralt’s heart sank as Arthur nodded.

“Nothing more can be done for now. Get some rest agents, we won’t expect you at HQ until Monday. You’ve done well.”

Arthur gave them a sad smile, the years looking heavy upon his face, and the hologram disappeared.

“Fuck,” Geralt said.

Jaskier, whose head was in his hands, let out a shaky breath.

Nilfgaard had been the cause of death for three Kingsman agents when they had last resurfaced, and had kidnapped the previous Merlin. Yen, who had loved Tissaia completely, had torn apart every web of information she had to find her, but Nilfgaard’s firewall had been impossible to crack, even for her.

Abruptly, Jaskier stood and crossed to a glass fronted cabinet, withdrawing two crystal tumblers and a matching decanter. He had a heavy pour, Geralt noted, a hold over from his University days, most likely. Nevertheless, he accepted the glass gratefully and took a long sip of the amber liquid.

His partner sat opposite him and for several quiet moments they drank together, the pop of the burning logs out of place with the tone of the room.

Jaskier looked up at him, eyes ablaze.

“We will take them down. Together. They can’t stand against us.”

His voice was unlike Geralt had ever heard, fury and fire curled around every syllable. Geralt felt a frisson of heat down his spine as he met Jaskier’s eyes.

 _You make quite a team_ , Yen’s voice drifted into his mind, unbidden.

Yes, they did. Undefeatable. Unstoppable. Undeniable.

Geralt raised his glass and smiled, a baring of sharp teeth. Jaskier returned it, bloodthirsty and beautiful.

“To us.”

The ringing of the crystal echoed in the room, like a tolling of bells.


End file.
